


Circumstances

by FantasyRyder



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternative Universe - King Arthur, Angst, Caring Hannibal Lecter, Dark Hannibal Lecter, First Meetings, Hannibal is English, Honestly I know nothing of European history so I apologize, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poor Will, Rating May Change, Will is Scottish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-04 16:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18607936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyRyder/pseuds/FantasyRyder
Summary: Hannibal Lecter is a hardened British knight. Will Graham is an unlucky Scottish soldier. When one of Hannibal's subordinates brings attention to Will, Hannibal takes a shining as well.





	1. Chapter 1

Exhaustion plagued Hannibal's frame as he stood above the dying man below him. Distantly, the leader of the branch that decimated a group of Scotsman regarded the fellow, a slight lilt of the head revealing his intention of analyzing him. The man's filthy rags contrasted Hannibal's relatively clean and polished armor starkly aside from the splashes of crimson they both shared. He recounted a soldier below him claiming a Scottish soldier shortly after they spotted him when looking out. The leader couldn't have cared less about the petty needs of his inferior but went over the description he was given. Almost at once he remembered being told that the man looked to be young, mid to late twenties, and despite the grime and blood that covered the dying man's face, he recognized he was too old to match the description and drove his long sword into his chest, ending his misery with a disturbing lack of sincerity.

Amber eyes followed the blood as it spread through the mud and between blades of grass around the corpse before he was interrupted with an accomplished cry. Hannibal could only assume the man found his golden ticket and strolled past brutalized bodies curiously. Pleased when his inferiors parted for him, he glanced down at the boy.

The green spread under him caused bright blue eyes to flash with an intensity Hannibal didn't expect. As explained, he was young, face blemished by mud but seemingly untouched by any other imperfections. Dark, long, curly brown hair framed his face. He looked up at the men surrounding him how a deer would look at a hunter with a drawn bow. Ironically, an arrow was already lodged into his shoulder and allowed a splash of red to overlay onto his fair skin. Instantly, he understood his soldier's shining, and speaking for the first time days, Hannibal voiced his opinion.

"If you plan on selling him off as a Scottish slave, you must at least be able to properly tend to that wound. I will take that responsibility unto myself as I have sufficient supplies and should be able to establish my standing to him."

A barely audible mumble took over the crowd as they trickled away, setting up camp for the night. 

Hannibal glanced about as soldier's loyally filed away before looking down at the man below him. His breaths heaved but the paralyzing fear melted from his eyes to bring a new fiery passion into light. Pleased with the promise of a challenge, he grasped the end of the arrow and despite the twitch of fear the Scotsman tried to stifle, jerked it out with a slight of hand.

Instantly, the filthy boy curled against the mud, grasping at the wound in attempts to stifle the searing pain and keep it untouched by infections his fallen brethren had to endure. With a gut-wrenching bitterness, he looked over the field of bloodied corpses and allowed his cheek to lay against the mud in defeat, knowing his fate varied from joining his fellow soldiers or doing as this branch planned for him. He debated which was worse.

Discarding the arrow, Hannibal lifted the man from the wet earth, “tsk”ing at his unresponsive state but resolving to hold him. Said man grew visibly embarrassed at being escorted through the camp of older, hardened men, but never faltered or looked away, though it obviously pained him. Hannibal recognized Will's keen sense of others and admired it before finally reaching his tent and laying him on the bare ground near the center, avoiding getting blood on the relatively fresh sheets of his cot. 

"You are not trying to escape," somehow Hannibal's words were both statement and question as he took his time gathering the necessary medical materials. Silence befell the two men, eventually interrupted when the boy shifted to lean against one of a few pegs keeping the tent above them.

"... You and I both know that'd do no good,” He tilted his head back against the peg, revealing the thin skin of his neck as well as his Adam's apple and the tendons below the surface, ”While I look at you and imagine your head on a stake, my determination will not be at the expense of my life." Will's words were measured as slow as if he had to convince himself of everyone that left his mouth. The captain, turning to the boy with alcohol, rags, and water, dwelled on his appearance and voice. While not soothing and elegant like the prostitute's offered in each village he and his men come upon, the boy’s voice was surprisingly husky and hoarse, lending well to his higher pitch.

"Clever boy." Hannibal sits on his mattress, raised by a frame, and firmly cupped the boy's jaw, nearly forcing him to walk on his knees so he could kneel on the ground in front of the commander. Downcast eyes flashed up to his after liberation, the soft blue Hannibal expected somehow drowned out by a sharp, rebellious determination. Hannibal released his jaw with measured force, scrutinizing him. The boy's head hung, not in submission but in refusal, causing a glint of annoyance to flash in Hannibal's maroon eyes.

Hannibal cleared his throat and spoke in a clear, conversational tone once again, "Rid yourself of the rags. We're treating the wound before it gets infected. Your name will also be appreciated.” 

With a slowness Hannibal felt bordered on tantalizing, the boy unbuttoned and stripped the shirt from his torso, nearly untouched by mud and imperfection aside from an occasional scar and the blood running steadily from the wound on his shoulder. As the wounded soldier opened his mouth to speak, Hannibal grasped the bottle of alcohol beside him and uncapped it.

“Will.”

“Ah, William I see, a biblical name in origin.”

“I go by Will, sir.”

Hannibal’s movements stutter, figuring if he considered Will’s rebuttal rude. With thought, he decided he was rude when he was scared and considered his snappiness endearing. 

When Hannibal upturned the bottle so the mouth was pressed against the rip in his shoulder, he rationalized that Will’s sudden agony was enough karma for the sass that Hannibal would have to deal with in the near future. He watched, enraptured, as the stained liquid poured steadily down his body and made a path against his pale skin, torso heaving in pained exertion. Despite this, his knees stayed planted on the ground, and his eyes had stopped wavering.

With a smile that could only be considered as proud, the captain grabbed the rag he had placed on his knee and pat off the burning alcohol from the now inflamed skin and urged WIll to hold it in place to stifle the bleeding as he gathered medical tape and rags.

Mechanically, he bound the sterilized rag to the wound firmly and sternly looked ahead at the satiated solder still kneeling below him, now obviously feeling relief at the comforting pressure being put on the inconvenience. Because of the grateful look on his face, Hannibal felt compelled and fished a spare dress shirt out of his travel bag. Will looked at it with an untrusting furrowed brow, but when his gaze lifted, Hannibal’s, unwavering, tipped Will off that the captain above him had no alternative motive to the act of kindness. 

Still, with an air of apprehension, Will took the article of clothing delicately, and with a single unhindered hand, pulled the oversized shirt on and buttoned it slowly, He burned as he was aware of the man watching him, and with a soft sigh of relief at finally being clothed, looked up at him. “Thank you.” His tone was barely audible but overwhelmingly sincere.

Distantly, Will took in Hannibal’s countenance, realizing that if he wanted to be able to gauge his thoughts, he’d need to rely on microexpressions. At that, his eyes flickered over his mouth and recognized the subtle, nearly invisible quirk of the right corner.


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal opened his eyes calmly at the faint tapping of precipitation against the tarp of his tent. A dim light leaked through the mildly translucent material indicating that the sun was rising and Hannibal and his men should get back on the trail to Britain as planned. Calculatingly, he turned his head to gaze at the other man resting in his tent.

In sleep, he seemed grateful for the comfort of the cot and thin blanket, unmoving and relaxed, only proof of unrest being the twitch of the lips framing a slightly agape mouth. Rather shaggy long hair lay about his head in an unpredictable manner. 

Hannibal stood slowly, as to not wake him, and proceeded to dress in his uniform and humble armor. When the chainmail clinked about, Will finally woke with a start, eyes opening suddenly as a gasp left his lungs at once. He was just remembering the events that unfolded the day before and cringed when his gasp resulted in a jerk that disturbed his wrapped shoulder.

Instead of reacting like Hannibal would have expected, William bore down and grasped at the cot with a shuddery hand, breaths leaving via his nose in quick pants as he looked up to Hannibal almost wearily.

Hannibal stopped his eyes from raking over the form in front of him and turned his head to face the closed opening of his tent, buttoning up what was needed with long, nimble fingers mechanically. “Good morning. I presume you slept well?”

There was a short, measured silence. “I did, thank you.”

“Absolutely no problem, but I expect you to dress now so we can all head out at once.”

“Where’s my shirt?”

Hannibal finished buttoning up and turned again, remembering he gifted Will a dress shirt the night before after he wrapped his shoulder. As he pulled the blanket from his body to stand, the knight furrowed a brow subtly at the filthy pants he let Will keep on that night and nodded his head no in mild frustration, trying to forgive the stains on the blanket he so graciously allowed the now slave to use. “You will wear that shirt. Wait a moment.”

With purposeful strides, Hannibal walked past the man standing at the center of the tent. He considered it impolite to stand in his way but the best way to categorize the look on Will’s face was “Lost Puppy”. Hannibal simply could not gather the heart to be more than irked. 

Said man found his bag, shifted clothing he considered too nice away, and finally came upon a pair of brown pants that would do the trick. He handed it to Will’s awaiting form and with hesitation, grabbed a plain hood from his days as a subordinate that would make Will feel more secure riding amongst dozens of men that wanted to devour him. ‘Not that I am any different,’ he recognized with an air of acceptance and bitterness.

Will made haste in changing into the pants Hannibal provided, sighing in relief at having the mud-caked slacks separated from his legs, even though Hannibal’s were a size or so too large. When he looked up, his eyes fell onto the tan cloak in confusion (made apparent by the brow furrow Hannibal recognized as a quirk of the young man when he was questioning or frustrated).

“For you,” Hannibal clarified with a boss-like firmness, leaving no room for argument.

Will’s lips were both neutral and frowning at the same time as he took the material in his hands, not really enjoying being commanded by a man he considered an enemy twenty-four hours ago. Despite this, he pulls on the cloak and ties it around his neck loosely, enjoying how the extra layer felt. He closed his eyes, feeling the softness of the clean clothes and Hannibal’s eyes scrutinizing him at the same time. He decided that he wouldn’t really care, as his home would consider him dead at that point anyway.

“What do you think will happen to me?” he looks up to Hannibal and continues, “Where were you and your men going?”

Hannibal weighed out the answers. “Depending on how well you and I mesh, you will be given back to David, the fellow who found you.”

Will obviously didn’t like that idea and Hannibal received satisfaction from that fact.

“We’re going back to Britain, so he will either keep you to himself for slave labor or sell you off to a more affluent buyer.”

The boy scoffed at that. He had too keen of an understanding of people and how they thought. Hannibal was more indescribable while a man like David was as readable as a sign: he was an older, hardened, sick individual that felt like he had fought so long in life that he had nothing to lose. Men like that bothered Will at a distance but the threat was much more apparent with the man’s blatant interest in him.

“...Depending on how well you and I mesh?”

Hannibal nodded.

“What do you mean?”

Hannibal thought, glancing up to the roof of the tent as raindrops puttered on it. “I have taken an interest.”

Will’s brows raise in a sassy fashion.

“I am admittedly lenient with your actions, so I will give you the choice to either go with me or David.”

The boy given the choice scoffed and looked over Hannibal’s form as he spoke. “Now that isn’t fair.”

“How so?” The taller man’s head tilted in interest, a faint smile crossing over his features at Will’s suddenly playful demeanor.

“You’ve had all this time to prove yourself a good “master”: all caring and tending, even giving me your clothes, yet all he gets is, what, shooting me and talking down to me like an animal? Feels too obvious.”

“That is for you to decide,” Hannibal chuckled, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Will nodded to himself again. “They always say it’s better the devil you know…”

Hannibal’s head tilts, “You think you know David?”

“I know his type,” Will spoke bitterly, top lip tensed in a subtle snarl.

“Than you should be asking yourself if you prefer his type or anonymity.”

A slightly longer silence befell them, but Hannibal understood. Will probably felt like he was signing his humanity away by saying one name.

 

“You.”

“Me?”

“I’m choosing the man who talks to me like a person. And anyway, I doubt I’ll serve you long.”

“Awfully confident in your people, in this war.”

“Well, I have to be.”

A breath left Hannibal’s nose. “I only hope you understand how much harder I now plan on fighting.” He smiles.  


Will’s large blue eyes widen ever so slightly at the comment as he thought on it, then looked up at the man he chose to serve, seeing only a promise and tinge of bloodlust that he regretted inciting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! I actually did it!

**Author's Note:**

> I plan on adding more chapters if this is received well, so thank you for reading! This is my first dip into this fandom.


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